My dreams get caught on your phalanxes
by Dori4n
Summary: One night before The End, the Big End, before they all die, a few things have to be said. Like "I'm sorry".  crappy sum, sorry End!Verse, angsty.


Slam !

Click...

A door's slam and a lighter's crack.

Two usual sounds, now inseparable from each other.

The first means the departure of the girl(s) with whom he spent the evening; the second indicate the ignition of his umpteenth daily joint.

His whole house and more specifically his room was always filled up with a light white fog. Smells of cold tobacco, overflowing ashtrays, alcohol and sex seemed to sweat through the walls.

He was slumped on a simple mattress placed directly on the floor that he used as a bed. The rest of the floor was occupied by cushions, clothes lying around, filth and dust.

One hand on the nape of his neck, he dragged the first puff. The one he would call "the saving one".

He had to forget, get away, fast, quick.

Get away from this setting which wasn't like him, forget those girls whose names he couldn't remember, to forget his behavior that disgusted him while he was 'sober' ... And to get away from this world he didn't recognize anymore.

It was night outside.

In the shadowy candlelight of the room, the "fallen" was listening to the world, his mind slowly fading away along with the smoke through his lips.

The wood of this wannabe house was creaking; he could hear termites scratching and the slight crackling of the candles' wax wick.

Outside, there were other sounds. The voices of his comrades, the footsteps of the men, their joyless laughter, even some gunfire, most likely to scare away animals. And far away, he could imagine he hear the groans of the infected.

Croats.

Sometimes he couldn't figure out how he should feel about them. Especially when he was really, really high.

Most of the time, he was reflecting that they were just another sort of animal to kill in order to survive. . But sometimes, as remainder of his old self, he caught himself sympathizing for them. Thinking that, deep inside, those poor creatures didn't have a choice. They were just more victims of this bloody Apocalypse and they had probably suffered just as much as he had.

Through his so-called meditation, he heard steps coming close to his cabin. Steps he could easily identify.

After all this time, how couldn't he?

He sluggishly forced himself to rise, just to whip on one a pair of his dark blue cotton's pant. Too loose, too old, too shapeless. He tightened the old string he used as a belt and left his room.

Even if it wasn't really better, he'd always preferred to greet his guest in the living-room. His bedroom always left the bitter taste of shame on his lips. Whatever, he didn't even sleep in his room. This half-lit room was only used for his "disciples". In other words, the plentiful girls craving affection that he strung along with empty promises and sweet words.

His joint caught at the corner of his mouth as he began to clean a bit, throwing away old bottles, emptying ashtrays in the big bag he used as a garbage, removing leftover food from his sagging chairs.

There was only one person allowed to see Castiel in an almost clean setting, and it was the one who was stepping through his door.

The fallen inhaled another puff of weed and frowned immediately.

A large curl of blue smoke floated into his right eye, and God, it was stinging.

He put his hand upon his eye, one acid tear running down on his cheek.

_Look, it's freezing, _

_Right there under my eyes_

_Stalactites of dreams, _

_Too old_

And of course Dean chose this exact moment to burst into the cabin. The bold resistance leader didn't even bother to knock before entering.

"Say, Cas..."

But he interrupted his own sentence. Not that it was really confusing, but it always shocked him a little.

Castiel, former angel of the Lord... Hard to believe. Shirtless, his face, in days gone so innocent, now shadowed by the growth of his beard, pants too large and too old hanging on his hips, barefoot, a joint of marijuana stuck between fingers. Dean's jaw clenched a bit as he saw his friend wiping off a tear just when he entered the room.

Was he crying? Maybe. Even if it should not have surprised Dean, he still didn't like the idea.

The former angel turned toward his leader with this evanescent smile which stank of drug.

"Hey boss, to what do I owe the honor of your divine presence?"

Sarcasm in the voice, not even concealed blasphemy, erratic motions, bad coordination, sloppy look... And given the smell in the air, he'd gotten laid a short time ago.

So many little details Dean noticed, like a reflex, in his mind. So many little details which hurt like needles pushed under his nails, like cigarettes burned into his skin.

He held in a sigh. No need to overdo it.

"Got a beer Cas?"

The smile widened a bit but became less real at the same time.

"Sure... Always."

Cas threw the bag of garbage onto the counter of his kitchen before reaching for the freezer.

" Have a sit, mi casa es tu casa."

Dean looked at the useable chairs with a slight wince... Cigarette's holes, food stain, cold ash. Nevertheless, he found a proper chair. The one he used each time he was there. Sometimes, he wondered if Castiel kept it clean on purpose, for him.

So he sank a bit in the armchair, noticing that the springs were almost as wrecked as the chair's owner. But at least it was clean and didn't smell like something dead.

Said owner eventually came back and held out a bottle toward his boss.

He stood next to him for a moment, simply standing, watching at him with his too red eyes. His smile weakened a bit and he asked with a wannabe bantering voice, "'t's good to see you boss."

The so-called boss sighed as he took the beer. "Cas... Please. Stop calling me "boss"."

The other gave a bitter, lifeless laugh, that sounded a bit hoarse. "Hey, aren't you the boss here? Our fearless leader?" He dragged a long puff before letting himself drop on another couch which was obviously at the end of its life.

"Yeah I know but it's just... Not you, please."

Castiel laughed again. But this time, Dean could hear a touch of acid within the sound.

"HA! Haha..."

But the angel's laugh died in his throat with a harsh cough. Abusing drugs for so long had damaged his voice. His formerly so pure blue gaze get lost in his though while his fake smile was fading away, leaving only a sad grin.

_All these promises vanishing away_

_To other heavens, to other harbours_

"And why am I different? Hmm boss?"

Dean sipped his beer. They had started this conversation a thousand times, but had never ended it.

Castiel stretched his arms to point to himself, his joint almost out in his left hand, his beer in the right one. "Look at me. Human, alive, frail, powerless, Graceless, without any order but yours, without anyone to support me but you." He giggled ridiculously, like what he'd said was laughable. "I'm not any different from anyone now. I'm just one of the umpteenth bastards under your command, an insignificant soldier fighting for a so called freedom, and Lucifer's end, of course. Well, maybe the only difference is... I more fun than most of your soldiers."

Dean listened quietly to the cynically dramatic declamation of his friend. He clenched his jaw because, even if he knew the song, he still didn't like to hear it.

A wall of silence fell in the room. When he didn't hear an answer from his "boss", Castiel raised his head. For a few seconds the entire universe was limited to that: two gazes meeting and freezing inside each other. A mute exchange of sensations, feelings.

To Dean, years of memories came to his mind. He thought about this Castiel, the one wrapped up in his old and dusty trench-coat with his lopsided tie. Sometimes Dean wondered if the angel had ever even untied it just once.

He remembered this distinctive expression Cas used to have when he didn't understand something: furrowed eyebrows, head tilted to the side and he squinted. He could see that familiar expression when the blue of Cas's eyes weren't bloodshot. First, this look had been cold, impassive, and impervious. Then, step by step, as he had interacting with the Winchesters, he had become more human.

Little by little, his expression had become worried, affected or amused.

Thinking about it, Dean couldn't deny the fact that sometimes he has had caught sight of a glimmer of tenderness. Only here and there, when the angel thought nobody was watching him.

But overall, Dean Winchester knew his light was dead. He knew he would never see it in his former guardian's blue eyes.

_And my dreams get caught on your phalanxes_

Castiel, for his part, was slowly drifting in those green eyes, the drugs helping him to lose himself in the familiar color.

He had believed. He had hoped. So strong, with all his might, with all his will.

He had trusted his brothers, he loved them, he had given them the benefit of the doubt so many times. He had convinced himself they would help when the Apocalypse turned out to be inevitable. And he had been disappointed.

He had searched for his Father, keeping his faith pure, powerful, knowing deep in his heart, deep in his Grace, that God would eventually do something. He had convinced himself that his Father would give them a hand, and would sort out all this mess. And he had been disappointed.

He had had faith in Samuel Winchester, trusting his mental strength. He had been certain Sam would never have accepted the devil inside his head. And he has be had been disappointed.

For a second, he wondered if his whole existence wasn't doomed with disappointment.

Then he remembered how much he had believed in Dean. He'd believed in Dean more than in anything else. Dean was his Anointed, his human, his charge.

He had thought he was being abandoned once again. He thought this was the day Dean was giving up, this was the day he had finally decided to give himself to Michael. Castiel had thought he was going mad, he has thought he was about to kill Dean with his own hands. But in the end... For the first time in... far to long, he hadn't been disappointed.

Dean got back on his feet. He was the only one not to trample on his dreams. Even his Father had slaughtered his last fragments of faith. But Dean, this ordinary human, this Righteous man... hadn't.

And that was how everything had ended up.

Were there only these two options? Lucifer walking free on Earth or his human destroyed by Michael's presence inside of him?

_I love you too much, it bothers you_

_And my dreams get shattered on your phalanxes_

_I love you too much_

_My angel, my angel_

The angel shut his eyes, letting the silence grow heavier all around them.

Dean frowned a bit.

Castiel wasn't the kind of guy who felt sorry for himself. Usually, when something would go wrong, he would take a couple of... Ah, there they were.

Cas took a small orange box from his pocket and opened it. Too many memories, not enough detachment. He had to kill all those things, or at least anesthetize them. And quick. Or he would hear the sound of his own heart shattering. Or it was going to kill him, he was certain about that.

But a hand grabbed his wrist. Surprised, he opened his eyes again and saw Dean standing in front of him, holding his arm firmly,

"Oh. He almost looks furious." The angel noticed in his head.

The hunter grabbed the box of pills and threw it away in anger without paying the slightest attention to the other's recriminations.

"Hey! Are you having your annual authority crisis boss?" His voice was half sarcastic half annoyed.

This last bravado made the "boss" fly off the handle.

"Listen carefully, you debauched son of a bitch, you can freak out when you're alone or with your bitches, I'm almost okay with that. Almost! But d'you know who you remind me of? My bro when he was a demon-blood addict!" The green glance had turn in an anger storm.

"Fuck it Cas! You're better than that and you know it! But it's so much easier for you to slip into all those artificial heavens of yours, isn't it? D'you miss your freaking Heaven that much that you invent yourself another, all full of booze and drugs and chicks?" Dean's voice got a bit louder.

His target looked away, stubborn, his jaw clenched. Castiel felt like a kid who was being scolded by his dad. And goddammit, he hated this.

Seeing the lack of reaction and bad-faith coming out from his friend, the hunter caught the angel's bare shoulders and sat him back violently.

"ARE YOU LISTENING? I'm talking to you Cas! Yes, you, Castiel, the angel who used to hang around me for years, who got me out of the putrid hole of Hell, who gave me so many lectures, who kicked my ass when I needed it. Castiel, the guy I clung to when my little brother was banging a demon, when my friends were losing it, when everything was crumbling. Castiel, the rock in the middle of this lousy chaos. And now what do I find? A fucking junkie? A guy whose eyes are so red that I'm wondering if you have any blood-vessel intact. A freaking coward who's completely lost his touch with reality, who doesn't even dare to look at me in the eyes and who dares..." His voice got louder and louder. Dean felt all this anger, all this frustration running through his body, exuding, condensing and finally impregnating each words, flowing through his lips.

His friend had opened very surprised eyes when the other had stuck him in his chair. His blue gaze reflecting some... fear yes.

Since everything had collapsed, Dean had never yelled at him, never like this. Castiel supposed his "boss" didn't dare because he was feeling guilty, he was feeling responsible for this disaster. And the angel had taken the most of it, leaving himself slowly drowning inside his fake Heavens, as he couldn't reach his own, his True one.

He looked down, feeling shame slightly growing inside his chest. This shame he usually banished with amphetamines, marijuana, chicks and booze or ecstasy.

But it was apparently a really bad idea though; Dean looked more and more furious.

"LOOK AT ME!" He had shouted those words loud enough to make the angel raise his head in reflex. "I was saying; and who dares ask me why he is different from the others? And who, just to make things worse for him, has a hell of a nerve to lay out his shit right in front of me? Fuck you Cas, I've never seen anyone running away like you! No even myself. Though I'm quite a master in it!"

Cas clenched his teeth, hardly holding his former charge's stare.

But the last words seemed to cause Dean's fury to vanish. Maybe shouting them out loud emptied him from all this stored-up rage.

Then it was his turn to look down and he freed his comrade's now trembling shoulders. He rose to his feet quickly, rubbing his eyes with a tired hand.

Silent fell over the place once again, Dean pacing in the living while Cas was quivering in his old armchair.

The angel was high enough to allow Dean's rant to turn his mind in a very wrong way.

Usually drugs prevented him from self-torture but right now, he felt himself drowning in the most brilliant come-down of his short human live.

Words were running inside his head, lashing his mind like a whip.

Coward. Yes he was a coward. But he had lost everything. All had vanished with this feckless Apocalypse.

His dreams? Trampled on by demons.

His hopes? Torn apart by his own brothers.

His Faith? Sacrificed on the altar of Indifference by a Father who didn't care about anything, who had abandoned his whole Creation.

His Grace? Simply gone one night, when his brothers had disappeared. Like it had never existed.

Instinctively his body huddled up. He wrapped his arms around his legs and held his knees against his chest, as he was trying to warm himself up. His teeth chattered while his forehead was covered in a slight sweat film.

Around him, the entire room was fraying like an old fabric, disappearing behind the maze of his despair. This time, drugs weren't an ally at all. On the contrary, it made him sink deeper and deeper inside his head. In some place he really didn't want to go. Somewhere he was afraid of. Afraid of being trapped and never being able to wake again.

As soon as he blinked, images erupted in front of him.

The other angels' acts, all of them despicable. Cold, unscrupulous, detached from everything. They didn't love their Father's Creation. But how could they? Even this Father didn't love it anymore.

When he didn't hear his friend anymore, Dean turned toward him and shuddered when he saw him.

Cas, huddled up in his old armchair, holding his knees so tight, trembling in spite of the sweat film on his forehead and upper lip.

But what ended the hunter's anger was his look.

Those eyes, too blue to be true, were staring in the air, straight on, making Cas looking like he was totally cut off from reality, unable to see anything.

Those oceans eyes were overwhelmed with guilt, shame and despair.

Castiel treated himself his own little ride through Hell in the wonderful world of Bad-Trip-Land.

With a hushed sigh, the eldest Winchester came back toward him. "Cas?" He dropped a hand upon Cas' bare shoulder, gently this time. But the drugged-one still jumped a bit. "Cas... Calm down. Castiel? Can you hear me? Look at me. C'mon look at me dude. Come back here."

But the fallen couldn't hear him anymore, shaking like a leaf in the wind, refusing to meet Dean's gaze.

The former hunter sighed one more time. A tired and heavy sigh.

"Okay... I guess it's not Candy-land inside your head right now. So!" He stood up and went to dig through his friend's medicine cabinet.

And it was more than well-stocked.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for: sleeping pills.

He crouched in front of Castiel, a glass of water in one hand, two tablets in the other. "Castiel? Cas, listen to me, you're high. And you're not good."

He was trapped in his mind's disgusting maze, where angst mingled with abandon and shame. And then, there was a voice.

A known voice, a beloved voice, familiar and comforting. He had to cling to this voice, Castiel knew it, because if he didn't, he was gonna die.

Memories were about to destroy him, to drag him down in the depth of the Abyss and skin his soul for eternity, he was certain about that.

One hand shot toward Dean and grabbed his right bicep. His friend's eyes eventually found him and a voice he could barely identify whispered.

"I'm sorry... Forgive me. Forgive them. Always... Until the end I've... Kept my Faith."

The last Winchester looked away, a bit embarrassed. He didn't like to see Castiel like this.

Dean I-Am-A-Real-Man Winchester wasn't really into confession and confidence. So, he barely muttered. "Yeah, yeah, it's okay, you're forgiven. C'mon now, swallow this before you start crying ok?"

The angel's hand clenched a bit tighter on the hunter's arm. Castiel was silently begging, his eyes were crying for a presence. His presence in fact, Dean's, only.

When he opened his mouth to speak again, his boss slipped the pills through his teeth.

"Good, now you drink. Go on, I'm not kidding Cas. Be a good boy."

Interrupted by the drug's taste on his tongue, he obeyed and took three long gulps of water.

Nevertheless, he was still nervous, his hands still shaking.

He remained silent but stared into Dean's eyes again.

_Out of a thousand flavours, _

_Only one touches me_

_When you lips _

_Brush my mouth_

There was another frozen moment. Immobile, timeless.

Castiel was staring at a crouched Dean, holding his arm tight.

It was like he was seeing the human for the first time. His eyes scrutinized Dean's features, his hand slid slowly up along his arm to grab the shoulder.

Dean frowned slightly. The situation was about to become downright awkward. Cas must have taken more than usual today to be in this hell of a state. He looked at the hand sliding on his shirt, stopping a bit on his shoulder before moving again.

When the former angel's finger brushed his jaw, as a blind man acquiring a face, his eyes met his mate's.

"Cas, what the f..."

But the expression he saw on Castiel's face shut him up.

Cas' lips were barely parted, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes half shut and over all, there was this head-tilting thing. Dean hasn't seen this expression for three or four years. This so angelic expression.

"You know... It's true. I mean it... I'm really sorry for them. I'm ashamed... So ashamed of what they did."

Dean looked down in a sigh. "I know. And you should have known you're not in the same category. " The hunter had a joyless laugh, empty, sad. "Look, they're gone and you..."

He took courage and met again this perplexed and a bit dreamy gaze. This gaze who was the old Castiel's one. "Well you... You're still here. And this um... It tells all the difference to me."

God (or not) how all this was awkward. Well, he had to say the warm fingers threading their way through his hair weren't helping at all.

What the hell was the matter with Castiel tonight? Except amphetamines of course.

A shiver ran along the hunter's spine and he didn't really know why. Once again, he looked away, a bit embarrassed, a bit ashamed, and a bit confused too.

After all, Cas was particularly high tonight. If he upset him, he could immediately fall back in this pitiful state of shaking and hellish visions. So Dean would just stand here, motionless, crouched beside the armchair until the sleeping-pills knock his friend out.

Another hand dropped on his shoulder and softly slid around his neck.

He refused to move, praying silently for his companion to fall quickly asleep.

Cas whispered. "So it's true? All is forgiven?"

The former angel seemed to make a point of honour to embarrass him. What the hell with those hands stroking his hair, those fingers slowly drawing the curve of his eyebrows, sliding on his jaw or brushing his lips? And over all, the most awkward part of the situation, why Dean didn't even felt feel like shrinking from this.

In Castiel's touch was an entirely inhuman gentleness, a pure and chaste devotion that ordinary people would never understand. It was tender, it was fascinated. It was also quite exclusive.

Dean had a little smile.

"There was nothing to forgive Cas. It has never been your fault. On the contrary. Remember? You said it. You said you had given up everything for me. And I..." He sighed.

"We screwed up Cas. Sam and I. I've been a selfish and arrogant bastard and Sam, prideful Sam for once, thought he would be stronger than the Devil. Bullshit. I should... I should be the one apologizing to you now. After all, you too, you've lost ever..."

He was not allowed to end his phrase.

Castiel has been listening, silent, starring at Dean Winchester... And remembering.

There was a man in front of him, a human. With a body, expressions, masks. But him, Castiel, he had seen who Dean Winchester truly was. He had caught his soul in his bare hands, he knew him.

Maybe it was the LSD he took this morning which was left in his blood, maybe it was the mix between alcohol, Aunt Mary and sleeping pills, maybe it was because he wanted this with all his heart, or even all of this, but here and now, he could see it again.

All around Dean a pure and white light was spread, undulating like water, sublime like what is saint holy.

And those words. This phrase. "There was nothing to forgive.".

He wanted to hear this phrase so much. He's been craving for his forgiveness so hard. And now, Dean was telling him he didn't blame him? Ever?

The only reaction he could plan now, the one which shut Dean up, was to kiss him.

The hunter felt Cas' hands raising his face and had barely the time to meet the angel's blue eyes circled with red. The second after, he was leaned over him.

Castiel didn't kissed like a girl, nor like a man. Castiel kissed like an angel.

His kiss was so chaste, so pure, so lacking in ulterior motives that Dean caught himself not pushing him away.

Their lips were brushing against each other, barely touching, their breaths running up against each other, mating, merging into one single breath. Cas' palms were gently wrapped around his hunter's cheek, his former Anointed, his thumbs stroking his skin softly.

All those years of horror, of fighting, of despair were fading away. All those nights of debauchery and drugs, wrapped with girl's perfume and guilt were cracking and falling to ashes.

_Out of all these winds, _

_Only one carries me away _

_When you shadow _

_Passes the doorstep _

Their eyes went shut when Dean thought he was about to suffocate.

Never, in his whole life, had he felt something similar. What Cas was giving to him was so powerful, so unique. Dean was everything he had left, the only real thing in the angel's shattered universe. He was his final spark of faith, his last breath. Nobody had ever needed him as Castiel did.

The angel's left hand left his face and slid down his arm, covering his own handprint, the one he had left so long ago. And eventually, their lips sealed.

It lasted several long minutes. Around them, the world had melted in a light haze. Nothing was important, nothing was real but this kiss. So simple and yet, so important. Vital.

Castiel eventually leaned back and observed Dean who was opening his eyes with difficulty. They stared at each other for a few minutes, silent. And there was nothing to say, this touch had already said everything. Then, the angel smiled and whispered.

"You know... Your plan. The Colt, going there, the smoke screen allowing you to end this mess."

There were a blank moment while Castiel was stroking Dean's cheek with such adoration.

"I know. I know where we will go. I know it's a suicide mission. I may be stone, but I'm not stupid. Those who will pass round the front are gonna die. So do I. And you know what?"

Dean had lowered his head in shame. He couldn't lie to him. But Cas gently forced him to look at him. He was smiling peacefully, as if everything was going to be alright.

"I will go. And I won't tell the others."

He dropped another kiss on Dean's mouth. It was incredibly smooth. The same warmth as their first one, with this stupid devotion peculiar to the old Castiel.

"Because it's you, Dean Winchester. Because it always has been you. Because it had to be you. Since the beginning of time I think."

Dean was transfixed. But not scared, contrary to what he might have thought. There was even something inside him which found this completely natural. As if everything had to end this way. As if it always had had to end this way.

So he smiled at his angel, covering his hand with his own, right above the scar which means so much and nodded.

"I know. I understand. Thanks Cas."

Then, the angel suddenly moved forward, shut his eyes for a second, frowned a bit. And an unfixed smile, looking more like the actual Castiel, stretched his lips.

"Oh fuck... Dean... One could say you turn me on."

Nice way to talk about the dreadful dizziness he was feeling right now.

The second after, he was collapsing in the hunter's arms, almost unconscious.

Absolute black out.

Castiel barely noticed someone was picking him up and moving him. He felt something soft, almost elasticized beneath him. He opened one eye with great effort. He could make out Dean lying... Or maybe he was lying? Yes, he was lying. On his couch. And Dean was pulling away the back cushions.

So, Cas decided to not think too much about this, 'cause he wasn't really sure he was on the sofa. Whatever, every notion of balance, space and time had left his body. He closed his eye again, and then, everything went blurry.

He was diving across the universe. He was swooping down like a bird of prey, deep down, rushing, his wings folded against his body in order not to slow his fall.

Fall? Was he falling? So he had crossed the line, at last. He was losing his Grace. Though, he could vaguely feel that something didn't fit. He vaguely had the memory of his Grace already loosen.

And then he recognized the place where he was rushing like a comet.

Red like blood, like sin, like shame. Red like a murder desire, like resignation, like an epileptic flash.

And black like mud, like tainted soul, like the bitter regret. Black like the ultimate lake of Grace, like the Abyss, like a coma one never woke from.

But beyond this, far more important, far more traumatic was the cold. Not, Hell is not on fire. It freezes to death; it freezes like your soul is burning.

This cold which makes you feel forever alone, this cold who whispers that it won't get better, never, that you're abandoned. This cold which takes the child lost outside, in a park at winter. And as this child crouches, as he becomes withdrawn, hoping for some heat, it's the wind that blows and the voice who mocks, whispering to him that no one will ever come.

Hell. Yes. He hadn't been thrown there, he had something to do there. It was a memory, a flash-back in the middle of an induced sleep, falsified by drugs and saturated with chemicals. Half dream, half hallucination.

He remembered why he was there.

_And my dreams get caught on your phalanxes _

_I love you too much, it bothers you _

_And my dreams get shattered on your phalanxes _

_I love you too much _

_My angel, my angel _

He had to save him. He has been told to get him out as fast as possible. He has been told he didn't deserve to be here.

So the soldier obeyed and now, he was rushing through Hell, not looking around, fearing that just a glance would taint his Grace.

He followed the way his superior had carved in his mind. Without wondering anything.

And he saw her.

A soul, down there, in the cold. This soul who has been skinned alive, slowly, gently. This soul who had been stroked with Damnation's razorblade, this soul who had been dressed in pain, who had been kissed with ember.

And this soul was sobbing, deep inside herself. This soul slowly began to hate herself, to harm herself in shame, in disgust. This soul was butchering another one.

Castiel knew he came just in time, he could feel the very first spark of tainted pleasure, still in gestation in this broken soul. A bit later and she would have been able to feel this twisted joy, hurting as much as she has been hurt.

He remembered, in a series of psychotic flashes how he felt at this time, looking at this picture.

A terrible sadness and infinite sympathy. Something inside of him had screamed with all its might, like an old instinct buried deep in his angelic Grace. And this "something" wanted to save this soul, this broken one. This "something" was insistently demanding to let this soul out, this "something" was outraged. This "something" wanted to take care of this soul until the end.

On the couch, Cas began to wiggle, moaning lowly, whispering inarticulate words. His arms were reaching here and there, his hands were grabbing the air.

Dean looked at him for a moment, not knowing what to do. He had laid the angel on his sofa and taken off the ratty cushions from the back to give Castiel some space. Dean didn't judge his so-called bed as a good idea.

He was about to leave, but the unprecedented sadness which was painted on his friend's face made him change his mind. Instead of going back to his cabin, he went to sit on a corner of the couch and gently grabbed one of Cas' hand.

The angel instantaneously caught it, pulling it closer in a soft, very soft cry. His fingers made their way between Dean's.

He got him! He had caught him and he had just decided to never let him go.

The angel wrapped all his being around Dean Winchester's soul. A hand was firmly holding his arm, not wanting him to fall back.

Castiel held the soul against him as his wings were flapping with all their strength toward the way out of this revolting and putrid world. He has barely heard Alastair's filthy laugh and his voice yelling "Too late!" but he has refused to take it into consideration.

He knew this person could be saved. He knew he would be saved... He had to be. Because if he wasn't, it would mean the world was just a nest of intolerable injustice.

So he held him against him, close, so close to his Grace and tried his best to be only appeasement, tenderness and love.

As Castiel uttered pathetic little whines each time Dean tried to stand up in order to go back "home", the hunter had eventually lain down next to him. Besides, the angel was clinging at his clothes, his wrists, his arms... In short, everything within his reach. He was tossing and turning, stuck between sleep and delirium.

Soon, Dean was embraced and held against his friend. Cas was murmuring things into Dean's ear, incomprehensible to him, but the hunter could recognize the voicing: Enochian.

Castiel was speaking Angel's tongue against his skin. His voice was somewhere between terror and sympathy. He nuzzled up against his neck, still mumbling, and then, at last, he calmed down and stopped moving.

_Take my sighs _

_Give me some tears _

_By dying too much _

_You end_ _up_ _laying down the arms _

_Breathe my sweet lie again _

_(I_ _wish_ _that) Under your breath _

_Time expand_

Slowly, Castiel was drowning in something closer to a real sleep than to an awaken hallucination. And slowly, Dean drifted into sleep too, rocked by his friend's regular breath.

Here they were, entangled with each other, haven of peace in a corner of this room so dirty and messy that it looked like a bombing vestige.

_And my dreams get caught on your phalanxes_

"Because it had to be you."

This phrase pronounced so many times for the Winchester brothers.

"Because it always had to be you."

The burden of the world dropped on their shoulders. The refusal to submit, the fear to be overwhelmed, the angst of being alone. And everyone around them told them that their destiny had to be achieved, that everything had to end with them.

_I love you too much, it bothers you _

Finally came failure. Samuel Winchester, John and Mary Winchester's son said "yes" to Lucifer, hoping he would be able to trick him, to be stronger than him, to resist him.

Of course, he was wrong.

_And my dreams get shattered on your phalanxes _

But today, in this place, in this time, there were nothing left.

Not angels, not demons, not shape-shifters, not vampires, not witches.

Not Devil, not God.

There was only them. Tightly embraced in the silence. Two men, one who was once an angel.

Sometimes one of them moved, briefly waking the other. Then they clung to each other a bit tighter, sometimes without even opening their eyes. They warmed up against each other.

The angel rested his head in the hollow of Dean's shoulder or nuzzled against his cheek with a sigh.

The hunter entangled his fingers into his guardian's black hair or slipped his leg between Castiel's, trying to be as close as possible.

Many times, Cas' lips came to breath against the Dean's mouth, as if he was afraid to suffocate. And they kissed between two dreams, feeding at each other respiration.

_I love you too much _

_My angel, my angel _

And the night passed.

It was cold, it was red.

His vision was blurred, his whole body was hurting. He was stumbling through this house like a dead man. Yeah, a dead man. What he was, by the way.

There was this pain in his belly, on the right. Sometimes, he looked at his wound, at the blood without seeing it.

He had to go in the garden behind the house. He absolutely had to get there.

He didn't see any living person. Everyone was gone and the only people he saw were dead.

Dreamy villa with corpses option.

After all, they had won. There was nothing left here.

His mind was slowly dissolving, his step faltering. He had to walk with one hand on the wall, but he had to get there. When he almost collapsed against the back-door, it opened on an empty garden. Well, almost empty.

He was there. He had found him.

Castiel smiled softly.

The whole universe was tasting blood. Or maybe it was just his own one which was filling his mouth? Whatever. Nothing didn't matter now.

He had found him.

Inert, eyes wide open, neck twisted in a disturbing angle, he was lying here, in the grass.

The angel moved to his side and dropped on to his knees.

He was still smiling.

With an infinite delicacy he tilted the other's head back in a decent position. His movements were soft and a bit mechanical. Then he tenderly closed his eyes and kissed each eyelid.

He brushed away a lock of light hair.

"Here... You see? They were right... It could only end with you. But they never said how it should end."

Of course, Dean didn't answer. But Cas didn't care.

"I'm here. You see... I managed to survive just to come here." His voice got hoarse and a burning tear came to mix with the blood on his face.

But he was still smiling.

"You're not alone. I'm here now." He ran his fingers through Dean's hair. "Please... Wait for me okay? Wherever you are, I'm coming." He winced, reaching his hand to his belly. "… Soon. Be just a little bit... Patient. A few minutes, maybe less. Okay?" He dropped a kiss on Dean's still warm lips.

He was still smiling.

"I was so close. A few seconds before and I... But I guess that's the way things had to go. I'm sorry, I'm a bit late. But I'm here and I won't leave... Never. Never again, I promise. So wait for me." He quietly laid his head upon the motionless chest, listening to the silence of a heart which would never beat again.

But he was still smiling.

"You know... I'm happy. Now it's over. It's really over. I know, we have been defeated, I know we've lost the battle, but I don't care, I'm happy. Because it. Is. Over. Everything will be forgotten, everything will be forgiven. I'm coming Dean. And wherever we will go, we will go there together. We'll never be alone anymore. So I'm happy. No more pain, no more fighting, no more fears, no more tears. Ok, everything is broken but... But now, you and I, we will be at peace. And that's cool, isn't it? The war is over."

He closed his eyes, feeling the tiredness of a long day beating him down. "I'm tired... I think now I can allow myself to rest a little bit." He raised his head to kiss his Righteous man one last time.

"Good night Dean."

_Alone on our ashes, balancing _

_My lungs weep, my heart is free _

_Your voice fades away from my memories _

_I'll tame_ _my freedom _

_And my dreams get caught on your phalanxes _

_I love you too much, it bothers you _

_And my dreams get shattered on your phalanxes _

_I love you too much _

_My angel, my angel _

This timeline ends here. No one would ever know, no one would ever care. After all, all of this didn't really happen, did it? If ends are impossible, it's simply because they break your heart.

And then, there were none.

Fin.


End file.
